Pol.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.* note
To be, or not to be? that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer
-- 40 --
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep—
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ach, and the thousand nat'ral shocks
That flesh is heir to; 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;—
To sleep? perchance, to dream: ay, there's the rub
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause:—There's the respect,
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns,
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make,
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To groan and sweat under a weary life?
But that the dread of something after death,
(That undiscover'd country, from whose bourne
* noteNo traveller returns) puzzles the will;
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the healthful face of resolution,
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprizes of great pith and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.—Soft you, now.
The fair Ophelia! nymph, in thy orisons,
Be all my sins remember'd.
-- 41 --
Oph.
Good my Lord, how do you?
Ham.
I humbly thank you, well.
Oph.
My Lord, I have remembrances of yours,
That I have long'd to re-deliver;
Pray you now receive them.
Ham.
No, not I; I never gave you aught.
Oph.
My honour'd Lord, you know, right well, you did,
And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd,
As made these things more rich: their perfume lost,
Take these again; for to the noble mind,
Rich gifts wax poor, when givers prove unkind.
There, my Lord.
Ham.
Ha, ha, are you honest?
Oph.
My Lord!
Ham.
Are you fair?
Oph.
What means your Lordship?
Ham.
That, if you be honest and fair, you should admit
no discourse to your beauty.
Oph.
Could beauty, my Lord, have better commerce,
than with honesty?
Ham.
Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner
transform honesty from what it is, to a bawd, than the
force of honesty can translate beauty into its likeness:
this was some time a paradox, but now the time gives
proof. I did love you, once.
Oph.
Indeed, my Lord, you made me believe so.
Ham.
You should not have believ'd me; for virtue
cannot so inoculate our old stock, but we shall relish of
it: I lov'd you not.
Oph.
I was the more deceiv'd.
Ham.
Get thee to a nunnery: why should'st thou be a
breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest; but
yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better
my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful,
ambitious; with more offences at my back,
than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to
give them shape, or time to act them in: what should
such fellows, as I, do crawling between earth and heaven?
-- 42 --
we are arrant knaves, believe none of us; go thy
ways to a nunnery. Where's your father?
Oph.
At home, my Lord.
Ham.
Let the doors be shut upon him,
That he may play the fool no where but in's own house;
Farewel.
Oph.
O help him, you sweet heav'ns!
Ham.
If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague
for thy dowry: be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as
snow, thou shalt not 'scape calumny. Get thee to a
nunnery. Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool,
for wise men know well enough what monsters you
make of them; to a nunnery, go.
Oph.
Heav'nly powers restore him!
Ham.
I have heard of your paintings, well enough:
nature hath given you one face, and you make yourselves
another; you jig, and you amble, and you lisp, you
nickname heav'n's creatures, and make your wantonness
your ignorance. Go to; I'll no more on't, it hath
made me mad: I say, we will have no more marriages;
those that are married already, all but one,
shall live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery,
go, go, go.
[Exit* note.
Oph.
O what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The expectation and rose of the fair state,
Th' observ'd of all observers, quite, quite down,
And I of ladies most deject and wretched,
Now see that noble and most sov'reign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled out of tune, and harsh.
O woe is me!
T'have seen what I have seen, seeing what I see!
[Exit.
Enter King and Polonius.
King.
Love! his affections do not that way tend;
For what he spake, tho' it lack'd form a little,
Was not like madness.
-- 43 --
He shall with speed to England,
For the demand of our neglected tribute.
What think you on't?
Pol.
It shall do well:
But, if you hold it fit, after the play
Let his Queen-mother all alone entreat him,
To shew his grief; let her be round with him:
And I'll be plac'd (so please you) in the ear
Of all their conf'rence: if she find him not,
To England send him, or confine him where
Your wisdom best shall think.
King.
It shall be so;
Madness in great ones must not unwatch'd go.
[Exeunt.
Enter Hamlet, and three Players.
Ham.
Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounc'd
it to you, trippingly from the tongue: but if you mouth
it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier
spoke my lines. And do not saw the air too
much with your hand, thus; but use all gently; for
in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind
of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance
that may give it smoothness. O! it offends me
to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow
tear a passion to very rags, to split the ears of the
groundlings; who, for the most part, are capable of
nothing but inexplicable dumb shews and noise: I
would have such a fellow whipp'd, for o'er-doing Termagant;
it out-herods Herod. Pray you avoid it.
Play.
I warrant your Honour.
Ham.
Be not too tame, neither, but let your own discretion
be your tutor. Suit the action to the word,
the word to the action; with this special observance,
that you o'er-step not the modesty of nature; for any
thing so o'erdone, is from the purpose of playing, whose
end, both at first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere,
the mirror up to nature; to shew virtue her own feature,
scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the
time, his form and pressure. O, there be players, that
I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly,
-- 44 --
not to speak it prophanely, that, neither having the
action of Christian, nor the gait of Christian, Pagan,
nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have
thought some of nature's journeymen had made men,
and not made them well, they imitated humanity so
abominably.
Play.
I hope we have reformed that indifferently,
with us?
Ham.
O reform it, altogether: and let those that play
your clowns, speak no more than is set down for them;
for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set
on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too,
though in the mean time some necessary question of
the play be then to be considered: that's villainous, and
shews a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it.
Go, make you ready* note.
What, ho! Horatio?
Enter Horatio.
Hor.
Here, my Lord, at your service.
Ham.
Horatio, thou art e'en as just a man,
As e'er my conversation met withal.
Hor.
O my dear Lord!
Ham.
Nay, do not think I flatter;
For what advancement may I hope from thee?
That hast no revenue, but thy good spirits,
To feed and cloath thee† note
.
Dost thou hear?
Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice,
-- 45 --
And could of men distinguish, her election
Hath seal'd thee for herself: for thou hast been,
As one, in suffering all, hast suffer'd nothing;
Give me the man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him,
In my heart's core; ay, in my heart of hearts,
As I do thee.—Something too much of this.
There is a play, to-night, before the King;
One scene of it comes near the circumstance,
Which I have told thee, of my father's death:
I prithee, when thou seest that act on foot,
Ev'n with the very comment of thy soul,
Observe my uncle: if then his occult guilt
Do not itself discover in one speech,
It is a damned ghost that we have seen* note.
Give him heedful note;
For I mine eyes will rivet to his face;
And after we will both our judgments join,
In censure of his seeming.
Hor.
I will, my Lord.
Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, and Gentleman.
Ham.
They are coming to the play, I must be idle:
Get you a place.
King.
How fares our cousin Hamlet?
Ham.† note
Excellent, 'faith,
Of the camelion's dish. I eat the air;
Promise-cramm'd. You cannot feed capons so.
King.
I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet;
These words are not mine.
Ham.
No, nor now mine, my Lord—
You play'd once in the university, you say.
[To Pol.
-- 46 --
Pol.
That I did, my Lord, and was accounted a very
good actor.
Ham.
What did you enact?
Pol.
I did enact Julius Cæsar. I was kill'd i' th' capitol.
Brutus kill'd me.
Ham.
It was a brute part in him, to kill so capital a calf, there.
Be the players ready?
Ros.
Ay, my Lord, they wait upon your patience.
Queen.
Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me.
Ham.
No, good mother, here's metal more attractive.
Pol.
O ho, do you mark that?
Ham.
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
Oph.
You are merry, my Lord.
Ham.
Your only jig-maker! what should a man do
but be merry? for look you, how chearfully my mother
looks, and my father died within these two hours.
Oph.
Nay, 'tis twice two months, my Lord.
Ham.
So long? nay, then let the devil wear black,
for I'll have a suit of sables. O heavens! die two
months ago, and not forgotten, yet! then there's hope a
great man's memory may out-live his life, half a year:
but he must build churches then.
Oph.
What means the play, my Lord?
Ham.
It is miching Mallico; it means mischief.
Oph.
But what's the argument?
Enter Prologue.
Ham.
We shall know by this fellow:
The players cannot keep secret; they'll shew all.
Oph.
Are they so good at shew, my Lord?
Ham.
Aye, at any shew, that you will shew them: be
not you ashamed to shew, and they will not blush to tell
you what it means.
Oph.
You are naught, you are naught, I'll mark the play.
Prol.
For us, and for our tragedy.
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently.
Ham.
Is this the prologue, or the posey of a ring?
-- 47 --
Oph.
'Tis brief, my Lord.
Ham.
As woman's love.
Enter Player King and Queen* note.
Pl. King.
Full thirty times has Phœbus' car gone round,
Since Love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands
Unite, in folding them in sacred bands.
Pl. Queen.
So many journeys may the sun and moon
Make us again count o'er, 'ere love be done.
But woe is me, you are so sick, of late,
And so far diff'rent from your former state,
That I distrust; yet, tho' I distrust,
Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must.
Now what my love is, proofs have made you know;
And as my love is great, my fear is so;
Where love is great, the smallest doubts are fear;
Where little fear grows great, great love grows there.
Pl. King.
I must leave thee, love, and shortly, too;
My working powers their functions leave to do;
But thou shalt live in this fair world behind,
Honour'd, belov'd, and haply one as kind,
For husband shalt thou—
Pl. Queen.
O, confound the rest!
Such love must needs be treason in my breast;
In second husband let me be accurst!
None wed the second, but who kill'd the first.
Ham.
That's wormwood!
Pl. King.
I do believe you think what now you speak;
But what we do determine, oft we break;
What to ourselves in passion we propose,
The passion ending, doth the purpose lose:
Think still thou wilt no second husband wed;
But thy thoughts die, when thy first lord is dead† note.
Pl. Queen.
Nor earth, oh! give me food, nor heaven light,
Sport and repose lock from me, day and night!
-- 48 --
Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife,
If once I widow be, and then a wife!
Ham.
If she should break it, now—
Pl. King.
'Tis deeply sworn: sweet, leave me here a while;
My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile
The tedious day with sleep.
[Sleeps.
Pl. Queen.
Sleep rock thy brain,
And never come mischance between us twain!
[Exit.
Ham.
Madam, how like you the play?
Queen.
The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
Ham.
O, but she'll keep her word.
King.
Have you heard the argument? is there no offence in't?
Ham.
No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest—no offence.
King.
What do they call the play?
Ham.
The Mouse trap: marry, how? tropically.
This play is the image of a murder done in Vienna.
Gonzago is the King's name, his wife Baptista; you
shall see anon, 'tis a knavish piece of work; but what
of that? your Majesty and we have free souls, it
touches us not: let the galled jade winch, our withers
are unwrung.
Enter Lucianus.
This is one Lucianus, nephew to the Duke.
Oph.
You are as good as a Chorus, my Lord.
Ham.
I could interpret between you and your love,
If I could see the puppets dallying.—Come, begin,
murtherer; leave thy damnable faces, and begin.
The croaking raven doth bellow forth revenge.
Luc.
Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing,
Confed'rate season, and no creature seeing;
Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected,
With Hecate's bane, thrice blasted, thrice infected;
Thy nat'ral magic and dire property,
On wholsome life usurp immediately.
[Pours the poison into his ears.
-- 49 --
Ham.
He poisons him i'th' garden, for his estate; his
name's Gonzago; the story is extant, and written in
very choice Italian: you shall see anon how the murderer
gets the love of Gonzago's wife.
King.
Give me some lights: away!
Pol.
Give over the play. Lights, lights, lights!
[Exeunt all but Ham. and Hor.
Ham.
Why let the stricken deer go weep,
The hart ungall'd go play;
For some must watch, while some must sleep;
Thus runs the world away* note.
O good Horatio, I'd take the Ghost's word for a
thousand pounds. Did'st perceive?
Hor.
Very well, my Lord.
Ham.
Upon the talk of the poisoning?
Hor.
I did very well note him.
Ham.
Come, some music: the recorders.
[Exit Hor.
Enter Rosencraus and Guildenstern.
Guil.
Good my Lord, vouchsafe me a word with you.
Ham.
Sir, a whole history.
Guil.
The King—sir.
Ham.
Ay, sir, what of him?
Guil.
Is in his retirement marvellous distemper'd.
Ham.
With drink, sir?
Guil.
No, my Lord, with choler.
Ham.
Your wisdom would shew itself richer to signify
this to the doctor; for me to put him to his purgation,
would perhaps plunge him into more choler.
Guil.
Good my Lord, put your discourse into some
frame, and start not so wildly from my business.
Ham.
I am tame, sir, pronounce.
Guil.
The Queen your mother, in most great affliction
of spirit, hath sent me to you.
Ham.
Sir, you are welcome.
Guil.
Nay, good my Lord, this courtesy is not of the
right breed. If it shall please you to make me a wholesome
-- 50 --
answer, I will do your mother's command; if
not, your pardon, and my return, shall be the end of the
business.
Ham.
Sir, I cannot.
Ros.
What, my Lord?
Ham.
Make you a wholesome answer: my wit's diseased.
But, sir, such answer as I can make, you shall
command; or rather, as you say, my mother.
Ros.
Then thus she says; Your behaviour of late
hath struck her into amazement and admiration.
Ham.
O wonderful son, that can thus astonish a mother!
But is there no sequel, at the heels of this mother's
admiration? Impart.
Ros.
She desires to speak to you in her closet, ere you
go to bed.
Ham.
We shall obey, were she ten times our mother.
Have you any further trade with us?
Ros.
My Lord, you once did love me.
Ham.
And do so still, by these pickers and stealers.
Ros.
Good my Lord, what is the cause of your distemper?
You do surely bar the door upon your own
liberty, if you deny your griefs to your friend.
Ham.
Sir, I lack advancement.
Ros.
How can that be, when you have the voice of
the King himself, for your succession in Denmark?
Enter Horatio, with Recorders.
Ham.
Ay, sir, but while the grass grows—the proverb
is something musty.—Oh, the recorders; why do you
go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would
drive me into a toil?
Guil.
Oh, my Lord, if my duty be too bold, my love
is too unmannerly.
Ham.
I do not well understand that. Will you play
upon this pipe?
Guil.
My Lord, I cannot.
Ham.
I pray you.
Guil.
Believe me, I cannot.
Ham.
I beseech you.
Guil.
I know no touch of it, my Lord.
-- 51 --
Ham.
'Tis as easy as lying; govern these ventages
with your fingers and thumb; give it breath with your
mouth, and it will discourse most excellent music:
look you, these are the stops.
Guil.
But these cannnot I command, to any utterance
of harmony. I have not the skill.
Ham.
Why look you, now, how unworthy a thing
you make of me; you would play upon me; you would
seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart
of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest
note, to the top of my compass; and there is much
music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot
you make it speak. 'Sdeath, do you think I'm easier
to be play'd on, than a pipe? call me what instrument
you will, tho' you can fret me, you cannot play upon
me* note.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
My Lord, the Queen would speak with you.
Ham.
Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape
of a camel?
Pol.
Tis like a camel, indeed.
Ham.
Methinks 'tis like a weazel.
Pol.
It is black like a weazel.
Ham.
Or like a whale.
Pol.
Very like a whale† note.
Ham.
Then will I come to my mother, by and by—
they fool me to the top of my bent. I will come,
by and by.
Pol.
I will say so.
Ham.
Leave me, friends.
[Exeunt.
'Tis now the very witching time of night,
When church-yards yawn, and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to the world; now could I drink hot blood,
And do such deeds, as day itself
Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother!
-- 52 --
O heart, lose not thy nature! let not ever
The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom!
Let me be cruel, not unnatural:
I will speak daggers to her, but use none.
[Exit.
Enter King, Rosencraus, and Guildenstern.
King.
I like him not, nor stands it safe with us,
To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you;
For we will fetters put about this fear,
Which now goes too free-footed.
Ros.
We will make haste.
[Exeunt Ros. and Guil.
Enter Polonius.
Pol.
Sir, he is going to his mother's closet;
Behind the arras I'll convey myself,
To hear the process; I'll warrant she'll tax him home,
And, as you said, and wisely was it said,
'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother,
Since nature makes them partial, should o'erhear
Their speech. Fare you well, my liege;
I'll call upon you ere you go to bed,
And tell you what I hear.
[Exit.
King.
Thanks, dear my Lord* note.
Oh! my offence is rank, it smells to heav'n;
It hath the primal, eldest curse upon't,
A brothers murder. Pray I cannot,
Tho' inclination be as sharp as 'twill,
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood?
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns,
To wash it white as snow? whereto serves mercy,
But to confront the visage of offence?
-- 53 --
Then I'll look up:
My fault is past. But oh! what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!
That cannot be, since I am still possess'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder!
My crown, mine own ambition, and my Queen.
May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world,
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;
And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself
Buys out the laws; but 'tis not so above:
There is no shuffling; there the action lies
In its true nature, and we ourselves compell'd,
Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What, then! what rests?
Try what repentance can: what can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?
O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engag'd! Help, angels! make essay!
Bow, stubborn knees; and hearts with strings of steel,
Be soft as sinews of the new born babe.
All may be well* note.
[Exit.
Enter Queen and Polonius.
Pol.
He will come strait, look you lay home to him;
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with,
And that your Grace hath stood between
Much heat and him. I'll here conceal myself;
Pray you be round with him.
Queen.
Withdraw, I hear him coming.
[Pol. exit behind the arras.
Enter Hamlet.
Ham.
Now, mother, what's the matter?
Queen.
Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.
Ham.
Mother, you have my father much offended.
-- 54 --
Queen.
Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.
Ham.
Go, go, you question with a wicked one.
Queen.
Why, how now, Hamlet?
Ham.
What's the matter now?
Queen.
Have you forgot, me?
Ham.
No, by the rood, not so;
You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife;
And, would it were not so! you are my mother.
Queen.
Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak.
Ham.
Come, come, sit you down; you shall not budge;
You go not, till I set you up a glass,
Where you may see the inmost part of you.
Queen.
What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murder
me? Help, hoa!
Pol.
What hoa, help!
[Behind the arras.
Ham.
How now, a rat! dead for a ducat, dead.
[Kills Pol.
Pol.
O! I am slain* note.
Queen.
What hast thou done?
Ham.
Nay, I know not: is it the King?
Queen.
O what a rash and bloody deed is this!
Ham.
A bloody deed, almost as bad, good mother,
As kill a king, and marry with his brother.
Queen.
As kill a king?
Ham.
Ay, lady, 'twas my word.
Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewel:
[To Pol.
I took thee for thy betters; take thy fortune:
Thou find'st, to be too busy is some danger.
Leave wringing of your hands: peace, sit you down,
And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,
If it be made of penetrable stuff;
If damned custom have not braz'd it so,
That it is proof and bulwark against sense.
Queen.
What have I done, that thou dost wag thy tongue,
In noise so rude against me?
Ham.
Such an act,
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty,
-- 55 --
Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there: makes marriage-vows,
As false as dicers' oaths: oh such a deed!
As from the body of contraction plucks
The very soul, and sweet religion makes
A rhapsody of words.
Ah me! that act!
Queen.
Ah me! what act?
Ham.
Look here upon this picture, and on this,
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers;
See what a grace was seated on this brow,
Hyperion's curls, the front of Jove himself;
An eye, like Mars, to threaten or command;
A station like the herald Mercury,
New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;
A combination, and a form indeed,
Where every God did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assurance of a man:
This was your husband—Look now what follows.
Here is your husband, like a mildew'd ear,
Blasting his wholsome brother. Have you eyes?
Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed,
And batten on this moore? Ha! have you eyes?
You cannot call it love; for at your age
The heyday of the blood is tame, 'tis humble,
And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment
Would step, from this, to this?
O shame, where is thy blush?
Rebellious hell,
If thou can'st mutiny in a matron's bones,
To flaming youth let virtue be as wax,
And melt in her own fire* note.
Queen.
O Hamlet, speak no more:
Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul.
Ham.
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an incestuous bed—
-- 56 --
Queen.
No more, sweet Hamlet.
Ham.
A murderer, and a villain!
A slave, that's not the twentieth part the tythe
Of your precedent Lord: a vice of Kings;
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,
And put it in his pocket.
Enter Ghost* note.
Save me, and hover o'er me with your wings,
You heavenly guards!—What would your gracious figure?
Queen.
Alas, he's mad.
Ham.
Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by
Th' important acting of your dread command? O say!
Ghost.
Do not forget: this visitation
Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose.
But look! amazement on thy mother sits:
O step between her and her fighting soul!
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.
Speak to her, Hamlet.
Ham.
How is it with you, madam?
Queen.
Alas, how is't with you?
That you do bend your eye on vacancy,
And with th' incorporeal air do hold discourse?
Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep.
Whereon do you look?
Ham.
On him! on him!—look you how pale he glares!
His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones
Would make them capable. Don't look upon me,
Lest with this piteous action you convert
My stern effects; then what I have to do,
Will want true colour, tears perchance for blood.
Queen.
To whom do you speak this?
-- 57 --
Ham.
Do you see nothing, there?
Queen.
Nothing at all; yet all that's here, I see.
Ham.
Nor did you nothing hear?
Queen.
No, nothing but ourselves.
Ham.
Why look you there; look, how it stalks away!
My father in his habit as he liv'd;
Look where he goes, even now, out at the portal.
[Exit Ghost.
Queen.
This is the very coinage of your brain.
Ham.
My pulse, as yours, doth temp'rately keep time,
And make as healthful music: 'tis not madness
That I have utter'd; bring me to the test,
And I the matter will re-word, which madness
Cannot do. Mother, for the love of grace,
Lay not this flatt'ring unction to your soul,
That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks;
Confess yourself to heav'n, repent what's past,
Avoid what is to come.
Queen.
O Hamlet! thou hast cleft my heart.
Ham.
Then throw away the worser part of it,
And live the purer with the other half.
Good-night, but go not to my uncle's bed;
Assume a virtue, if you have it not.
Once more, good-night!
And when you are desirous to be blest,
I'll blessing beg of you.—For this same Lord,
[Pointing to Pol.
I do repent; but heav'n hath pleas'd it so,
To punish me with this, and this with me,
That I must be their scourge and minister.
I will bestow him, and will answer well
The death I gave him; so again, good-night!
I must be cruel, only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind* note.
[Exit Ham. dragging out Pol.† note
-- 58 --
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
